


Foreplay/Long Time

by sublightsleeper



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Everything is happy and nothing bad ever happens, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 18:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10393506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sublightsleeper/pseuds/sublightsleeper
Summary: The truth, but not exactly. Because Dean is ass over teakettle, but it’s never, never going to happen. He’s messed up somewhere fundamental, but he’s not going to smear his dirty fingers over someone perfect.It’s not so bad, being in love with somebody who’ll never want you the way you want them. He still gets these dinners. The phone calls. Sammy showing up at the garage sometimes.It still feels like being in love. Butterflies, giddiness, that slow, simmering heat in his gut.It just happens to be when he’s around his little brother.





	

Sam has this thing about Mom’s kitchen chairs. He never sits in them right, always straddling the back of them, arms folded over the metal, feet brushing the floor as he spins himself back and forth. 

It’s fucking distracting. 

So is the way his fingers push through his hair, loose strands falling against his face. Dean tries not to think about these things, but dinner is long over, the pie pan on the table empty, and they’re all a couple of beers in. 

(Dad’s put a Boston album on, it’s as close as he ever gets to saying stick around a little while longer, boys.)

Dean’s warm with an easy buzz, watching Sam with lazy fondness while he tells a story about work, the animal charity that lets everyone have dogs in the office. 

When Sam laughs, his throat works beneath the spattering of stubble, and Dean is dry mouthed, trying to imagine what it would feel like to run his tongue over the curve of his Adam’s apple. 

“-Dean?” That’s Mom, and wow, yeah, this is his last beer of the night. He waves the bottle away, pulling his gaze away from Sam to glance up at Dad, half sprawled in his chair, reaching out to catch the hem of Mom’s shirt and pull her down into a quick kiss before she disappears into the kitchen to wash the dishes. 

“So how’s work, anyway?” These dinners happen every month like clockwork, and sometimes the conversation feels like it’s being repeated by rote. It’s comforting. Familiar. Sam’s got his chin on his crossed arms, smiling at Dean. 

“Well, nobody shits in my office, so I guess I have one up on you there.” Dad hides his smile behind his beer, and Sam laughs, ducking his head. All it does is drop all that hair right back into his face. (Dad had opened the night like he always did, pulling Sam into a hug. ‘When’re you getting a haircut?’ is his favorite opening line.)

“It’s good. Got a new resto project coming in. It’s going to be awesome. An old Ford Falcon.”

Dad sighs in appreciation, and they sink into conversation about how Chevy has always been better than Ford, but you can’t discount the Galaxy and the Falcon. 

Sam winks at Mom and slides off of his chair, a hand on Dean’s shoulder in passing, and then Dad’s, Dad squeezing his fingers before Sam slips into the kitchen. 

Dean’s got one ear on that conversation going on in there, and he catches Mom saying what ever happened Amelia? Sam’s answer is lost under running water and his uncomfortable chuckle. 

“What about you, huh? Gonna give your Mom some grandkids one of these days?” Seems like Dean wasn’t the only one listening in on the other conversation. He shakes his head, nursing those last few swallows of beer in his bottle.

“No sir.” He can see the question being cocked on his old man’s brow. “Never met anybody I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. If I meet somebody that puts me ass over teakettle, then maybe.”

The truth, but not exactly. Because Dean is ass over teakettle, but it’s never, never going to happen. He’s messed up somewhere fundamental, but he’s not going to smear his dirty fingers over someone perfect. 

It’s not so bad, being in love with somebody who’ll never want you the way you want them. He still gets these dinners. The phone calls. Sammy showing up at the garage sometimes. 

It still feels like being in love. Butterflies, giddiness, that slow, simmering heat in his gut. 

It just happens to be when he’s around his little brother. 

Dean doesn’t know when it happened. When he stopped looking at Sam and seeing an annoying kid, when he started noticing the breadth of his shoulders, or the length of his fingers, or the cut of his jaw. 

It happened very slowly, and all at once. 

And he’s never felt that with anyone else. Lisa was…incredible. And for a little while, Dean thought that they’d be together forever, an old couple sitting on their front porch in rocking chairs. 

But Lisa wasn’t willing to settle for half his heart, and it’s not like he could tell her where the rest of it belonged. And she deserved more. A guy who could give her his all, and help Ben be the kind of man he was on track to be. 

The needle hits the edges of the record and Dean takes that as his cue to make his exit. He doesn’t have a long drive, but he does have an early start in the morning. 

“Alright Dad, I’m heading out.” He gets a handshake, and his old man using their clasped fingers for leverage to pull himself upright, and Dean into a hug, slapping a big hand against Dean’s back. 

Hard to believe that his Dad was only a couple of years out from retirement.

He gets a hug and a kiss on the cheek from Mom, a dish towel thrown over her shoulder. Dean’s still getting used to the short hair, but it looks good on her. Hard to improve on a classic, but she did a good job.

“C’mon Dean, I’ll walk you out.” Sam claps a hand on his shoulder, and Dean swears he can feel the heat of that palm through two layers of shirts, seeping into his skin. 

Three beers was too goddamn many for family dinner, because Dean was just buzzed enough that everything felt amazing. He needed to get out and behind the wheel of his baby before he ended up chubbing up in his parent’s house, something he hasn’t done since he was sixteen. 

They stop in the front hallway to tug on their coats. Dean’s is faded, soft leather and Sam’s is some black wool number that he manages to make look hot. 

(Everything looks hot on Sam.)

Sam goes in for the hug, big wingspan arms tucking Dean up against him. And Dean, the moron that he is, decides that he’s earned a little something. He can’t think of why, but he’s already leaning up on his toes to try and press a kiss against Sam’s cheek, knowing his brother will tolerate him. 

Except for the fact that Sam turns at the last second, looking back down the hall towards Mom and Dad in the kitchen, and their lips brush. 

It shouldn’t be a big deal. Sammy was a big, wet mouth kisser until he was about five, sloppy and overly enthused at all times. But Sammy isn’t five years old anymore, and Dean has lightning striking in his veins, making the insides of his teeth itch as he steps away, drudging up an awkward smile. 

“See you around, Sammy.”

Dean steps out onto the front step, and doesn’t look back. Not until he’s behind the wheel, the Impala rumbling comforting beneath him. He puts his forehead against the steering wheel, blowing out a shaky breath. 

“Fuck.”


End file.
